Down below in the parking lot, a cheetah with a bandaged tail repeatedly dove through a ring of fire while a gorilla humped a panda.
A moose walked out of the legal clinic: “Can I cut in?”
“No!” said the gorilla.
“This is the best job ever!” said the panda.
Chapter 29
The Next Day
The official press conference announced another lottery rollover, resulting in the biggest jackpot yet of the already record-breaking year, but nobody knew how high it would go before Saturday night’s drawing.
At that very moment in a South Florida penthouse, a Jamaican man with dreadlocks hit the pause button on the remote control. He leaned and stared at the tall numbers on the official lottery tote board. “If only I could get hold of one of those tickets . . .” Then Rogan resumed channel surfing. Click, click, click. Rerun, rerun, rerun. Three’s Company, One Day at a Time, Different Strokes, credit-card travel perks, flooring installed, online education for less. Something caught his attention. He stopped clicking. On the screen:
A potbellied man in a tie-dyed T-shirt swayed Zen-like to sitar music. He had a scraggly beatnik beard and John Lennon glasses.
“You think most lawyers are scum? I agree! So score the karmic representation you deserve at the cosmic court where the age of Aquarius is still alive . . .” He began singing off-key: “‘. . . Please allow meeee . . . to introduce myselffff . . .” Singing stopped. “Ziggy Blade here. DUI? Bankruptcy? Divorce? Hash pipe found during routine traffic stop? Who says it was yours? Come on down and let yourself move to the smooth legal groove with the Blade-man . . .” He thrust his fingertips to within inches of the camera in a trippy, 3-D effect, except the camera wasn’t 3-D, so there was no effect. “. . . And as always, we legally cash in all lottery tickets. No appointment necessary in downtown Hialeah. Call the number below now!” Ziggy pointed down at red flashing digits superimposed across his legs.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rogan told himself. “This is my competition? This is the lawyer who’s been horning in on my territory?” The man with the dreadlocks put pen to paper to write down the phone number, but it quickly disappeared. “Damn, I wish he’d show that number again.”
“That number again . . .”
It began flashing and Rogan began writing. He underlined the name Blade three times and got on a burner phone.
Nightfall
Another dinner engagement with Brook.
Reevis was picking her up at her office. He waited in his car, catching up on e-mail. His mind drifted back to thoughts of an Easter pageant in first grade when his mom made him wear a stupid hat that was a basket of little chickadees, held in place by a large pink ribbon tied under his chin. He told himself: Let it go.
Reevis stared out the windshield at nothing in particular, just idly in the direction of the nail salon. There was a reflection off the window, so he didn’t notice it at first. He slowly leaned forward. “What the—?”
Inside the salon, cardboard arrows leaned against two chairs. A panda and a cheetah getting pedicures.
“Are you sure you want to keep the heads on?” asked the nail specialist. “It must be stuffy in there.”
“We’re Method actors,” said the cheetah. “We must stay in character.”
“Serge,” said the panda. “Why are we getting this done anyway? You always bite your nails. I mean your fingernails.”
“I’m always fascinated when I don’t understand a major cultural phenomenon,” said the cheetah. “I’ve seen hundreds of these nail places everywhere and can’t grasp how they survive. Yet customers are always coming and going. Why would anyone pay good money when they can just bite?”
“They can’t reach their feet?” said Coleman.
“But I’m starting to understand the allure of the pampering treatment.”
“They are being pretty nice to me.”
“Especially considering the condition of your toes.”
“What’s wrong with my toes?”
“Coleman, my toes are no picnic, but yours are a house of horrors. The big one’s going the wrong way like a hit man’s nose, and the mutant little one’s like a blind mole rat, not to mention the volume and composition of all the material you’re been storing up between them. What is that?”
“Just stuff.”
“The poor woman working on you is like a dental hygienist with a patient who didn’t brush after barbecue and corn on the cob.”
Two women looked up from their feet and smiled. A bright pinpoint of light swept across a wall.
“Did you see that?” asked Coleman. “What was it?”
“A laser,” said Serge.
“What would they use a laser for in here?” asked Coleman.
“I don’t care, but I’m next in line for it.” He checked a wall clock. “And we have just enough time before that appointment to meet our new client.”
“What client?”
“Don’t you remember anything? I got a call from Mahoney.”
“The private detective?” asked Coleman. “What did he say?”
“He was talking to himself in the third person, but I was able to translate that he had an important case for us.”
“I thought that being furry sign-spinners was our job for this Route 66 episode.”
“Sometimes they had two jobs when Linc and Tod went separate ways, except I’m not letting you out of my sight,” said Serge. “Besides, in the end everything always pieced together . . .”
. . . Out in the parking lot, journalistic curiosity got the better of Reevis. He left his car and stepped inside the salon.
The panda turned. “Look who just walked in.”
“Reevis!” said the cheetah.
Being on TV was starting to get Reevis recognized on the street, so it wasn’t that unusual. “Uh, do I know you?”
The cheetah’s head came off. “It’s me, Serge!”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” Reevis fell back against the plate-glass window.
Serge hopped out of his chair with cotton balls between his toes.
“Mister,” said the pedicurist, “I’m not done.”
“I’ll pay in full anyway,” said Serge. “Something’s come up and I have to put my cheetah feet back on.”
Reevis ran over. “Serge, Jesus!” He suspiciously glanced out the window. “What are you doing showing your face around here?”
“Thought you’d be more happy to see me.”
“It’s not that.” Reevis watched a police car drive by. “We need to get you out of sight!”
Serge passed a few twenties to the nearest woman. “Keep the laser warm.”
Reevis tugged a furry arm as they left the salon. “Let’s get going. You can duck down in my backseat until I can think of something.”
“Hold your horses,” said Serge. “Why should you be so worried if I’m not?”
“That’s what worries me.”
From another direction: “Reevis, who are your friends?”
“Ahhhhhhh!” He spun around. It was Jacklyn, leaving for the day.
“Something I said?” asked the lawyer.
“No, you just startled me.”
“Don’t be so nervous,” said Jacklyn. “So what’s the deal? You’re now striking up conversations with sign-spinners?”
“No,” said Serge. “Reevis and I go way back, very long history between us . . . Isn’t that right, Reevis?”
A look of terror.
Jacklyn got out her car keys. “Where do you know Reevis from?”